the letter. It had been forwarded through her publisher, after all, and she had assured herself that the sender had no way of knowing her real identity.
But now she had to confront the fact that someone not only knew her identity as the author of The Mirror , he or she was apparently determined to punish her for having written it. And that person knew who she was and where she was.
Cleo's hand shook as she turned the key in the ignition. She suddenly wanted to get back to the safety of the inn as quickly as possible.
Chapter
3
M ax paused beside the open door of the large parlor. The quaintly furnished room was filled with seminar attendees. At the front of the parlor a man with silver, blow-dried hair, a chunky gold watch, and a massive diamond ring held forth. He was wearing a jacket and a pair of handmade leather shoes that Max knew had cost at least as much as the ones he, himself, owned. There was obviously money to be made in the motivational seminar business, Max decided.
“My name is Herbert T. Valence, and you know something? I am incredible.” Valence radiated intensity. He practically bounced on his toes as he gazed expectantly around the room. “I am amazing. I can do anything I want to do. And you know what? So can you. Say it after me, everyone. I am incredible .”
“ I am incredible ,” the audience repeated as one.
“I am amazing,” Valence said. He looked as if he were about to burst with excitement and enthusiasm.
“ I am amazing .”
“I can do anything I want to do,” Valence prompted.
“ I can do anything I want to do .”
“The power of positive thinking is literally out of this world,” Valence announced with a triumphant smile. “It's pure energy. It's raw fuel, waiting to be poured into your creative engines.”
Max watched with interest as Valence seemed to levitate back across the room to his wall chart.
“I am here to teach you the secret of having it all,” Valence told the audience. “Money, power, success, and self-esteem. They can be yours by following my simple Five-Step Program. You want to wear clothes like mine? Drive a Porsche like mine? You'll be able to do just that when you've finished my program. I guarantee it.”
Max lost interest and walked on toward the lobby. He stopped in front of the first of the series of seascapes that hung there and stood looking into it for a while.
There was nothing to see beyond the surface image of a storm-tossed sea. The technique was poor, the design was static, and the colors were dull. It was the work of an amateur. Jason had been right in his own estimate of himself as a painter.
“There you are, Max. I've been looking for you.” Sylvia Gordon waved from the office doorway. “There was a phone call for you a few minutes ago. I rang your room, but there was no answer so I took a message.”
Max turned away from the seascape he had been studying and walked over to the front desk. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Sylvia smiled. “Sorry I couldn't find you when the call came through.” She handed him a piece of paper. “Whoever she is, she sounded very anxious to get hold of you.”
Max glanced at the note. Kimberly called. She wants you to return her call as soon as possible. Very important. The very important had been underlined three times.
“Just a business matter,” Max said. “It's not really important.”
He crumpled up the note and tossed it in the waste-basket, just as he had the half dozen other urgent messages he had received from Kimberly Curzon during the past month. He wondered absently how she had managed to track him down here at the coast.
“Is Cleo back yet?” he asked.
“No.” Sylvia glanced at the wastebasket where the note had disappeared. When she looked at Max again there was speculation in her eyes. “But I expect her any minute. She won't be away long. Not with this crowd filling up the inn.”
A roll of thunder drew Max's attention to the window. It had grown dark
But now she had to confront the fact that someone not only knew her identity as the author of The Mirror , he or she was apparently determined to punish her for having written it. And that person knew who she was and where she was.
Cleo's hand shook as she turned the key in the ignition. She suddenly wanted to get back to the safety of the inn as quickly as possible.
Chapter
3
M ax paused beside the open door of the large parlor. The quaintly furnished room was filled with seminar attendees. At the front of the parlor a man with silver, blow-dried hair, a chunky gold watch, and a massive diamond ring held forth. He was wearing a jacket and a pair of handmade leather shoes that Max knew had cost at least as much as the ones he, himself, owned. There was obviously money to be made in the motivational seminar business, Max decided.
“My name is Herbert T. Valence, and you know something? I am incredible.” Valence radiated intensity. He practically bounced on his toes as he gazed expectantly around the room. “I am amazing. I can do anything I want to do. And you know what? So can you. Say it after me, everyone. I am incredible .”
“ I am incredible ,” the audience repeated as one.
“I am amazing,” Valence said. He looked as if he were about to burst with excitement and enthusiasm.
“ I am amazing .”
“I can do anything I want to do,” Valence prompted.
“ I can do anything I want to do .”
“The power of positive thinking is literally out of this world,” Valence announced with a triumphant smile. “It's pure energy. It's raw fuel, waiting to be poured into your creative engines.”
Max watched with interest as Valence seemed to levitate back across the room to his wall chart.
“I am here to teach you the secret of having it all,” Valence told the audience. “Money, power, success, and self-esteem. They can be yours by following my simple Five-Step Program. You want to wear clothes like mine? Drive a Porsche like mine? You'll be able to do just that when you've finished my program. I guarantee it.”
Max lost interest and walked on toward the lobby. He stopped in front of the first of the series of seascapes that hung there and stood looking into it for a while.
There was nothing to see beyond the surface image of a storm-tossed sea. The technique was poor, the design was static, and the colors were dull. It was the work of an amateur. Jason had been right in his own estimate of himself as a painter.
“There you are, Max. I've been looking for you.” Sylvia Gordon waved from the office doorway. “There was a phone call for you a few minutes ago. I rang your room, but there was no answer so I took a message.”
Max turned away from the seascape he had been studying and walked over to the front desk. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Sylvia smiled. “Sorry I couldn't find you when the call came through.” She handed him a piece of paper. “Whoever she is, she sounded very anxious to get hold of you.”
Max glanced at the note. Kimberly called. She wants you to return her call as soon as possible. Very important. The very important had been underlined three times.
“Just a business matter,” Max said. “It's not really important.”
He crumpled up the note and tossed it in the waste-basket, just as he had the half dozen other urgent messages he had received from Kimberly Curzon during the past month. He wondered absently how she had managed to track him down here at the coast.
“Is Cleo back yet?” he asked.
“No.” Sylvia glanced at the wastebasket where the note had disappeared. When she looked at Max again there was speculation in her eyes. “But I expect her any minute. She won't be away long. Not with this crowd filling up the inn.”
A roll of thunder drew Max's attention to the window. It had grown dark
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